


How Krem met Bull

by Kat2107



Series: The Bull and his Duckling [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Other, References to Sex, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Transphobia, and Bull being Bull, loss of an eye, pitiless death of Tevinter soldiers, really stupid banter, transphobic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2820473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat2107/pseuds/Kat2107
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krem is a fugitive. And he gets caught. And things get ugly. And then they get kind of miraculous.<br/>Bull is a Qunari spy and actually, all he wanted was alcohol. Then things get ugly.<br/>People die. But not the kid. He´s keeping that kid</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed all the trigger warnings.  
> I´m being as respectful as possible. Should I fuck that up, please yell at me in the comments. Thank you.

The hits come in quick succession, bam bam bam, head, chest, stomach. Clothing rips.

His arms, each caught in the death grip of hands that hate him, want nothing but hurt him, tremble. If only he could get free, could twist enough to use his feet.

He's no bad fighter, but against half a dozen soldiers, he's helpless.

Air caresses his chest and the shame has him choke up. So, this is it. This is, how he will end – a bloody pulp on a tavern floor, broken and discarded…

If he gave up... it could be over so quickly.

Hurt less.

For once it wouldn't hurt as much as it could.

Always with the pain. But the pain is part of him.

Krem lifts his head and with all the rage in him spits in the officers face.

He's a soldier, a fighter and damn them, they won’t reduce him to anything less.

The blow to his face that follows splits skin, blood splatters across his lips.

“You wanted to play with the boys, sweetheart. Now handle what it got you.”

Krem barely registers as the door in the back of his tormentors crashes open.

He hears the scream though, feels the hands that hold him falter. He twists, slams his elbow into the armpit of the one on the left, then rips free… and shit, his ribs are on fire, and slams his fist against the nose of the one to his right.

“NO YOU WON’T!”

The sound of the flail cutting through the air, Krem’s unprotected back and head turned the opposite direction.

He knows, that's it.

But it’s ok.

He'll die fighting, standing up like the soldier he is. It's good.

 

What hits him, is too soft, to be the flail, too massive to be a weapon, too warm to not be a living being.

This is the only thought he has, when a mass of muscles slams into him. That's not the flail. That´s very much not the flail.

A blood curdling yell echoes through the tavern, then a high pitched scream, cracking bones, then silence.

 

Still alive.

Blood drips lazily onto the wooden boards below him. His own. That's a lot of blood. There are cuts, he knows, skin broken by fists. With a wet cough, Krem pulls his tunic close and pushes onto his knees.

Bones crunch behind him, a cut off groan. More Silence.

He slowly turns his head and yes, he had noticed the horns. Had hoped to be mistaken.

On the other hand…. Who complains, when a huge ass Qunari saves your life?

Not him.

“Hey, lass, you all right?” The mountain of a bull sways slowly, left side of his face a bloody mess.

Krem tries to tie the damn tunic again, with an arm that doesn't quite work and ripped lacing and it's messy and lopsided, but that's it.

“Not a lass, big man.”

He lifts his gaze and through the haze of the pain and the blood loss, yep, there's still a qunari and the way he looks at Krem is..unexpected.

“Alright then, not a lass.” He rumbles, lifts his hand up to his own face and the bloody mess there, drops it again with an annoyed sigh. "Question still stands though, you alright, kid?”

There is no disgust, no opinion. The Qunari simply rearranges the facts and that's it, it seems. It's never that easy. Nobody is that accepting.

“Yeah, I'm fine, I … “ He pushes to his feet. Blood ran into his eye and seeing is a bit of a chore.  The ribs on his right are done for. There's a cut across his belly that bleeds like hell. He's dizzy.

“Just need a moment.”

He tries leaning forward, putting a hand on his knees. Which proves a bad idea, as he tips to the side and a big hand has to steady him.

So, Krem stands again, closes his eyes, which is not much better.

“You're bleeding pretty heavy, lad. We need to get you to a healer.”

Even Krem, and he can be stubborn with the best of them, admits there might be a problem. There IS a problem. He doesn't want strangers touching him. But the Qunari… yeah, dragging a Qunari to the next healer is not a good idea either.

“You, too. Your face... I know someone. She doesn't ask questions.”

The Qunari rips a strip of cloth from one of the soldiers tunics and Krem carefully places it over his eye, constantly steadied by one big hand on his shoulder.

He doesn't question the big creature being here. He doesn't question the gentleness or acceptance. Not now. With the amount of bleeding, slowed only a little when the Qunari wraps a strip of bandage around the cut in his side, survival is much more of a pressing matter.

And so they go. The Qunari “Hey, what's your name by the way.” “They're calling me the iron bull” knows the backstreets way better than he should and he knows exactly where they need to go.

His hand is the only thing, keeping Krem upright at some point.

And not much later not even that hand is enough.

He knows, in a short moment of clarity, falling unconscious is probably a death sentence, but his body makes that decision for him.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a huge crush on the Iron Bull. And I have an even bigger crush on Krem.  
> And their friendship gives me all the warm and fuzzy.

The Bull catches the blood slick body as the kid drops. And damn them, though Bull knows the smooth skin is not actually a sign of tender age, he wants to kill them all over again. The lad probably doesn't even know how bad he looks, face cut open, body cut open, lip split and skin bruising.

He's a tough one though, the way he disposed of the men holding him was quick and efficient fighting. All the more so for the state he was in.

The house Bull heads for is not more than a hovel, packed between a whorehouse and a merchant in the seediest part of town. Of course, if you were hunted by Tevinter soldiers this was were you hid. Actually, that is exactly where Bull prefers to hide. So, no, he wasn't really surprised, when the kid told him where to head to.

He should have asked the kids name though.

Bloody mistake. Must be the headache, or the head splitting pain of bone shards piercing through his skin and the bloody state of his eye.

The night is too dark to make his way through narrow by-streets without depth perception for someone he doesn´t know…yet.

At his knock, nothing happens, only after he rams the door with his foot loud enough to wake the neighbours, does it open to reveal a small crack of light and a tall woman, wrapped in a house coat and a shoulder wrap, blond hair gathered haphazardly on her head.

Her features are too severe to be called pretty, though there is a certain striking quality to them. Bull eyes her up and down, with what is left of his eyes at least. He notices the balanced stance, the slender figure, notices the adam's apple bobbing, too – something that usually might be concealed by a pretty scarf, yes.

Suspicion on her features, her hand reaches for something behind the door, though she never finishes the motion.

“We need help, mylady.” The kid knows her obviously and it's clear why, and why he trusts her.

“He lost a good amount of blood and they weren't gentle with him. I only ask for your assistance to save his life.”

And finally she seems to recognize the face under all the blood. “Krem.”

It´s a desperate sound in a voice that holds smoke and darkness. A good voice...

The door opens fully and he is beckoned in, her arm - good, nicely groomed hands there - pointing for the back room.

 

Bull places the kid on the table and starts to remove the tunic. The boy probably isn't going to be happy his armor got left behind, but armor can be replaced. The cut runs along his side, right under the binding, the makeshift bandage already bled through.

The kid's skin is delicate, or so Bull hopes, otherwise the bruises would be…

The anger boils in him, hot and fast. Of course, the bruises are not due to delicate skin.

Yes, he wants to emasculate those bastards and then twist their necks again. Just to hear the satisfying sound of their bones crushing.

The healer steps in behind him, shoves at his back with gentle determination.

“Please sit. You're taking up too much space.”

He doesn't. He moves to the other side and assists, until she glares at him and hisses that he either sits right that moment, or she'll stop working. And he must close his eyes, if she's to have even a small chance to save the wounded one.

So he sits and watches. Eye's probably beyond salvation anyways. He clamps a tight hold on the pain and his emotions. No use raging. Fucking cowards.

That kid's his responsibility. And he'll pull through. A shame to lose a man like that.

They say, Bull has a tendency to pick up strays. But he never saw the point of letting a good opportunity go to waste. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, if I mishandled something, please tell me. In big words.

 

Krem awakes, warm, in pain and with binding around his chest, that is not of his own doing.

There is a moment of panic, he wishes, didn´t come just quite as naturally.

Just as well.

So, he isn´t dead.

He´s in a bad shape, but it's a still living shape. With greasy hair and itchy skin and he knows, he must have been out at least a day.

For a moment there Krem wonders what woke him.

Well, the need to take a piss, yes, there´s that.

But it´s also the rhythmic… Turning his head to the side, he knows the brothel is at.

No. It´s the other one.

Alla´s bedroom.

There´s moaning.

One voice he is pretty sure is Alla´s. The other is too deep to be human. You need a lot of chest to get that much sound.

Really?

Really?

Krem decides, it´s not worth getting a headache over. So, the Qunari stuck around. Splendid. Alla doesn´t sound unhappy, quite the contrary, so, there´s no need to storm in and kill somebody either. Not that he could right now. Wouldn't stop him from killing the horned beast at a later point, though, should he dare hurt the healer.

But not before taking said piss. There´s an outhouse in the back.

Krem thinks, he can make it there. He can absolutely make it there.

So what, if he´s too proud for the chamber pot.

A soldier does not use the chamber pot.

Ever.

And Alla´s too busy to berate him for stupidity.

He manages silently through the dizzy spell on his way out, he manages to undress himself with an arm and a half.

It´s not his fault, he stubs his toe on a stone.

The jerk of his upper body, the following pained jerk of his arm and that he crashes the metal bucket from it´s perch next to the door… are.

Ok, so, maybe shoes might have been a good idea.

Oh screw them.

Alla and the Qunari are still at it. If there is pain involved it´s not the unpleasent kind and he doesn´t want to know.

He goes back to sleep, hoping, they just didn´t notice.

As Krem wakes again, he's tangled in the blanket, leg hanging off the bed. Fell asleep on his broken ribs, too. Which was good while he was asleep, providing pressure and easing his breathing.

It is hell now.

Pushing himself around proves painful beyond measure, the cut adding a whole new level of “Oh Maker, that hurts.”

“Oh maker, that hurts….”

He manages to maneuvre his body around to turn his face to the room... and right at the grinning visage of the Bull.

“Well, look who´s back. Hey there, kid.”

“Hey, chief.” Krem´s voice seems to have dropped a whole octave while he was out.

Not that he´s complaining. If only the reason weren't his throat feeling as if he´d gurgled with gravel.

The Qunari on the other hand looks healthier than he should, a bandage runs around his left horn, covering the upper left part of his face, but that´s the only sign of damage. No weakness, no paleness. That guy could stand and rip a man apart with his bare hands right this moment.

They eye though...

Krem knows the moment the Qunari, Iron Bull, catches on.

He sees the tilt of the head as translated by those big ass horns, sees the twitch of his lips.

He wants to ask. And he doesn´t want to know.

In the end the massive mountain of muscles reaches for a cup of water and lifts it to Krem´s lips.

“It´s gone. No crying over spilled milk. You aren´t, kid. So…” Krem swallows slowly, this cup and a second. “Lose some. Win some. Right?”

His eye, he lost his eye as he pushed Krem … no as he threw himself between Krem and the flail.

Maker´s breath.

“I don´t know how to… “ The Qunari, Bull, people who saved your life deserve to be adressed by their preferred names, leans over him, the filled cup in his hands again.

“Don´t fret it, kid. They had no right. Killing them was a pleasure.”

“Cremisius.” People you owed your life to also had the right to your name. ”Cremisius Acclasi.”

“Cremis.. Cremi… Krem. That´s a mouthful.” He laughs. It´s loopsided, his face twitches as the movement pulls at the injury, but a laugh like that, throaty and hearty, it´s good.

It feels safe.

“Krem is good.” Well, what do you say, when someone saves your life like that. “Thank you, Bull.”

“THE Iron Bull. I am quite fond of that article.”

“Of course you are, chief.”

It´s at that moment, Alla walks in, a tray in her hands, a scarf wrapped around her throat, a dark blue that really sets off her eyes. Her lips are swollen, her eyes shining.

Krem grins, the teasing on the tip of his tongue an easy one; he stops dead as she levels a death glare at him.

"You are not to get up, before I say you can get up."

“Hey, I needed the outhouse! And you were busy.”

The tray holds food. Krem wants that food.

“And you were damn loud about it!”

The Bull ducks his head, and isn´t that bastard just smug?

Alla straightens her shoulders and stares down on Krem, who suddenly feels extremely vulnerable on the bed.

“There´s a bed pan.”

“No soldier worth his sword uses a bed pan.” There is not enough derision in the world for Krem to put in that sentence.

The Bull laughs, Krem´s blood though, suddenly runs cold.

“My sword!”

“Easy, Krem de la Krem.” That deep rumbling turns almost gentle. “I got it.” The relief has Krem forgetting to protest at this stupid nickname. Something he will regret later on, probably.

“Your armor is a lost cause though. Guess, we´ll need to replace that.”

Krem is tempted to shove Alla aside as she´s fretting over his wounds. He´s intelligent enough not to.

“We?”

“We.” The Bull leans forward, massive arms resting on his knees. “I run a company. And you are good. If you like, there´s a place for you. Even though you´re a stinking ‘vint, Krem de la Creme. I could use you. ” He winks. Krem groans.

And is flattered. Not just a stupid nickname then. Not just stupid at least.

He wants to ask, wants to implore if this is really something, he can put his sword behind. Then he remembers, that Qunari sacrificed an eye to save a man he didn´t know. No questions asked. He treats Alla with respect. Alright, he treats Alla with affection. He never once doubted. He just accepted the fact of what and who Krem was. And Krem owes him a life.

Soldiering is what Krem does. It´s what he IS.

“Rank?” It´s not a decision that needs thinking.

“You tell me, kid.”

Maybe Krem died last night. Maybe this is the afterlife. Things like that don´t just happen. People like this don´t exist in Tevinter. But The Iron Bull - emphasis on the article - isn´t a ‘vint.

There´s this weird feeling in Krem´s chest. Below the bandage, the weirdness of not wearing the binding, below the pain, the still burning cut and the trouble breathing, curtesy of his broken ribs, Alla is just poking around at.

It´s warm and weird and fuzzy. And it´s been so long, Krem barely remembers it exists.

Hope.

“Dunno, I didn´t cheat the army to just be a soldier. That´s for sure, chief.”

The Bull laughs again. Krem tries not to.

Maker, does he hurt.

And damn if he doesn´t feel great.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I did some extensive research into chest binding, especially historical chest binding. Which there is no proof of, but as an archeologist that fazes me exactly zilch: since binding is naturally made of easily decomposing organic material like cloth and leather, this is absolutely to be expected, also, since archeologist have no way to descern a trans male body from a female body the correct conclusion can´t really be made, except for some very rare instances were someone is buried with burial gift of the opposite biological sex.  
> It is said that Joan D'Arc binded her breasts to pass as a soldier, but no accounts exist of how.  
> Now, I´m not only an archeologist, I also LARP and I do in fact have experience with female armor or the endless quest to get any.  
> The solution was so simple it was laughable. I swear to god!  
> To me, it was absolutely unfathomabel how someone who was an elite fighter could restrict air flow like this. He doesn´t have to.  
> The perfect solution for Krem is his perfectly normal armor. It is virtually impossible to not appear male in a gambeson and a breast plate unless you put a ton of work into it.  
> A gambeson is a thickly padded tunic that is unisize, unisex, is incredibly practical in a fight and should be worn under each and any piece of armor worth it´s name. It prevents the worst bruises, it shields against sword attack, takes energy out of arrows and Krem is shown wearing it in all his glory in the game. 
> 
> There you have it. All complications aside: You have a warrior, dress him as a warrior. (but please keep in mind, armor isn´t clothing. That setup, he wears is extremely warm and also probably the reason, he´s standing on his chair. Sitting is an art in full armor)
> 
> Warnings: hints of transphobia motivated violence, possibly sexualized violence, mention of gender dysphoria, joking talk about cross dressing, death mayham and assassination heaped upon unsuspecting Tevinter soldiers, cheapest banter possible (c'mon, it´s Krem and Bull)
> 
> As usual, should I have offended you in any way (unless you are a Tevinter soldier or mage and not Dorian) please let me know immediately!

Krem, for just a short moment, thinks of his father and what he would have to say, had he seen those stitches. Better he didn´t. All Krem does is to close the tears in the fabric, same as he did earlier with his tunic. It's rough and sloppy and both will have to go eventually.

The tight reinforced undershirt he usually uses to bind is beyond use until he gets to repair the laces and the ripped holes. Of course, it wasn't enough for them to try to kill him five on one, no, they had to publicly humiliate him and try to destroy the "offending" garment.

Assholes.

Now he would have to make do. Again.

And he hates it and it´s the last damn time in his life.

It´s an oath.

Ever since Alla warned them about the manhunt now out for both of them, fixing gear was all Krem had done. What little there was. Bull had gotten his from several stashes over town. All very telling in hindsight and very suspicious. Good thing, Krem doesn't give a nug´s ass about Tevinter anymore , only about getting out and never coming back.

It costs him, to just sit here in his tunic, unable to make himself what he really is, but the fact that the Bull truly doesn´t seem to notice, helps.

 

"You know, we could just dress as women and sneak past the guards..." Krem tries to get his feet into his boots, following an age old soldier´s wisdom to always make this the first thing to put on, before you stand up from a bed. Which is why he doesn't glance up when there is no answer.

Cowardice has nothing to do with it.

But the silence drags on... and then it becomes deafening and finally, he dares look up. The bull is sitting on his chair, checking his gear with slow and deliberate motions, until he too looks up, as if he’d only waited for Krem´s gaze.

"I don't think, you'll find a dress my size, 'Vint." Words, spoken very calm and very deliberately.

Krem doesn´t really know what he tried to do with that suggestion, except for the hilarity of having Bull as this huge...

"Oh, I´m sure we can work something out there. A few yards of cloth, a sewing needle, a bit..." his hands talk for him there, before he notices and stops " I mean, you sure DO have the heaving bosom, you know?"

Their eyes lock and both of them keep a face as straight as any. It´s a bit frightening, really, how well that works.

And freeing. It´s so fucking freeing.

"Have you ever wielded a two handed battle axe Krem de la Krem?"

"A mace, but I sure have, chief. You can use those without beingthe size of a mountain. It´s all about technique, not about the size." Krem manages to hold out until the facial equivalent of a sad groan crosses the Bull´s face, but then he throws back his head and laughs his booming laughter and it´s over, Krem´s lips pull - with a painful reminder of each and every cut - into a huge grin.

He isn't sure what the test was, but he feels they both passed it.

The next moment a ratty bunch of padded cloth is thrown into his bed, rust traces seeped deep into the surface, there are stitches covering up tears in the fabric and even from a distance there is a certain smell of old sweat that clings to it, woven into it´s threads for all eternity.

It’s disgusting.

And brilliant.

"Alla said, she noticed you trying to pull up the bandages supposed to hold your ribs." It sounds normal, an officer speaking to a subordinate about a matter of equipment that is none out of the ordinary, normal for all intents and purposes. It throws Krem, as it has everytime in the last three days, while he was getting back on his feet. The nonchalance and acceptance. It´s weird. It´s good weird, but it always makes him wait for the other shoe to drop.

"Alla also said, it´s your choice what you hurt yourself with, but should she find out you are doing this agai after she just healed you, she will... and I quote here..." Bull leans his massive body forward, coming down on Krem´s eye level, close enough to share an unmentionable secret between mutual conspirators. "'Throttle you with slow and painful pleasure' and - should I let you - I will find the same fate, after that gentle and sweet spirited woman emasculates me." He leans back again, with a smile on his face and a distant kind of terror in his eyes and points to the gambeson. "I know, it reeks, but it´s the best I could find at such short notice. It’ll be easier for you to breath in than in more restricting armor."

As Krem unrolls the gambeson the stench gets only worse.

"We call those pole cat cages. It´s bad enough when it´s your own, but another´s? Bleh."

His gaze falls too Bull´s chest and  this time the responding laughter coaxes a careful chuckle from him.

"Yeah, yeah. You show off your heaving bosom and let it flow freely in the wind. I get it. It´s a nice bosom."

They leave at dusk. Two fighters, mercenaries for all intends and purposes, on their way to their next job.

Bull has a bag thrown over his shoulder that carries all their possessions.

Food, because Alla is a mother hen.

Medicine for Krem, because both Alla and Bull are mother hens.

The healer´s best wishes and prayers for a safe journey.

They leave behind enough coin to buy supplies for helping the needy for weeks and the promise that help was only ever a note away. They would come, no matter what.

Krem had almost had made it to the border when the tribune and his men had caught up with him. Now it´s only the last few miles for them to cross.

The Bull´s steps are heavy to Krem´s right, his horns a beacon of "please come and catch me, Tevinter guards". Krem is in a considerable amount of pain still, taking position at Bull´s blinded left. No shield. Only a sword, a dagger he commissioned from Bull´s stash and the giant ox’ axe.

This is going to go so well.

 

***

 

When it goes down and Krem vanishes at the first yells of the Tevinter soldiers, for a moment Bull wonders how he could have been so mistaken.

Then the ‘Vints mage falls without a sound, their archer´s head bounces off the ground with an audible thud and, by the time Bull has eviscerated two of them, divested a third of both his forearms and turns to the fourth, the tip of a dagger punches through the last soldier’s larynx and paints his lips a gargling, desperate red.

As he falls, Bulls looks into the ice calm eyes of an experienced killer. And a second later at the lopsided smile of a friend.

Then Krem bends down and takes a deep breath and a few, fighting the muscle spasms that exertion always brings to broken ribs.

"I wonder when they will learn that using standard formations against a deserter is an invitation." It´s said with the nonchalance of someone used to the necessity of killing, after he wrestles back control over his injured body.

Yep, fighting skill, intelligence, character, tactical sense and the will to fight when things get ugly and you rather give up. Not even speaking of passing for years in the Tevinter army. The kind of will and of strength that took… Well, since the ‘Vints insisted on throwing all that talent away…

He´s keeping the kid.  

 

They fleece the soldiers in silence, quick and efficient and then they're off.

They cross the river in the dead of night, Krem stumbling more often now and at some point Bull reaches for his arm and doesn't let go.

And then it´s over.

Oh, of course, they still have hours to go until the next tavern, but they're out.

In the dark - he will never mention it - he hears a silent choke, feels a gentle shaking of the body he touches. He leads the kid.. the man.. the 'Vint, down the road, until he feels the raw emotion subside.

"Thank god these lands are as warm as a brothel´s bedrooms. I don't think I would want to sleep cuddled up to you, Krem de la Krem." Bull lets go when he is sure, Krem won't fall. "Not, as long as you're wearing that special blend of eau de dead nug ."

He hears Krem choke up again, it sounds right this time. Less heart pain, more physical pain, as the man tries not to laugh.

"I´m a Tevinter tailor´s son, chief. You don't get to judge my clothing. Especially since I never have seen you wear anything even closely resembling that name."

They stroll down the road in the dark, Bull keeping the pace as easy as he can make it.

“What do you think of the name “Bull’s Chargers”; Krem de la Krem?”

“Really!?”

“Yeah, it has a nice ring to it.”

“Chief, your ego is as huge as your rack, that's what I think.”

“Bull's Chargers it is then. Great.”

“I don't think, you were hearing what I was saying, chief.”

“That's why I'm the boss: I get to ignore non-relevant advice my Lieutenant gives me.”

“Lieutenant, huh?”

“Yeah, someone told me, he didn´t deceive the Imperial army to just be a soldier. Guess, desertion, probable treason and the sheer fact you're a ‘Vint are absolutely unbecoming of a Seargent, then. Tough luck kid. Tough luck.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
